Chapter fifty-three
The Oasis
Summer 1922
I’ll be back next summer.
T he rest of the summer slipped by faster than they wanted. Everyday, Carlos found himself looking forward to her voice, her laughter, and her presence that lit up his days. Catalina found herself sneaking to the Oasis whenever she could. It was their secret, their hidden world, and they were never found out.
Their days were spent swimming in the pond, stealing kisses between splashes. When they kissed, even the wind held its breath.
She sat beside him, knee tucked to her chest, watching as he carved his figures. She even named some of them. Catalina talked like she always did, filling the air with her voice, and he listened, as always.
She loved when she made him smile.
When she wasn’t talking, she danced. Barefoot on the grass, the wind her music, her curls bouncing with every step. He watched her like she was the first sunrise he’d ever seen.
But summer was never meant to last. The day came when she had to go back to the Dominican Republic and they had to say goodbye. Even I couldn’t stop time.
That morning felt different.
Her steps were heavier as she made her way across the field and toward the path she took so many times before. My grass remembered the shape of her footsteps, bending slightly.
The winds carried her scent to him, where he sat waiting beneath my oldest tree, and a small carved bird in his hands.
She ran toward him the moment she saw him. Carlos caught her without hesitation, holding her tightly in his arms. They stayed like that for a while. The wind softened around them, and my trees leaned a little closer. Even the birds were silent, trying to hold them together for just a little while.
She pulled slightly, her fingers brushing his cheeks. Then she leaned forward and kissed him, pouring everything they didn’t say into that kiss. When they finally parted, neither of them said anything for a while. But their eyes said everything. It was the kind of look that said I’ll never forget you.
“I’ll be back next summer,” she whispered, her hand tightening around his.
“I’ll be here.”
Carlos pressed the carved bird into her hand, closing her fingers around it like he was pressing a part of himself into her skin.
His throat worked, but no words came. How did you tell someone who you might never see again that they were your everything?
She turned once.
Then again.
And again.
Each time, she looked at him like she was memorizing him—the shape of him against the golden light, the boy she loved tucked beneath the shelter of my trees.
And each time, he was still there.
Still watching.
Still waiting.